


Capitalism and creepers (The troubles with moving in)

by inspectorwired



Series: logic and light years [5]
Category: New Dangan Ronpa V3: Everyone's New Semester of Killing
Genre: Alternate Universe - Supernatural Elements, Ghost Saihara, House Party, Humor, M/M, Saimota Week 2020, Touch-Starved, p much everyone from the 53rd class briefly shows
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-24
Updated: 2020-05-24
Packaged: 2021-03-02 17:54:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,765
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24350875
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/inspectorwired/pseuds/inspectorwired
Summary: Momota's been having a bit of an issue with his new apartment, and he's not panicking. It's not that he's scared, or anything like that. He's definitely not scared, because really, this is a completely normal reaction to be having in this situation.(or, Saihara is a ghost and Momota is suffering.)
Relationships: Momota Kaito/Saihara Shuichi
Series: logic and light years [5]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1750891
Comments: 6
Kudos: 97





	Capitalism and creepers (The troubles with moving in)

**Author's Note:**

> day 5: mourning/sleep  
> aka watch me pick the angstiest looking prompts and turn em into a romcom

He'd been scammed.

That's what happened here: a scam, spoliation of facts and evidence and exploitation of a vulnerable individual who didn't have all the details. Momota is furious. How dare they.

In other words, what happened here is this: freshly employed, his budget more than limited, Momota’s search for a place turned out successful as he very quickly found something that works for him well. It's a nice little apartment, cozy and surprisingly cheap, located near the city center, with fairly quiet, polite neighbors. He was extremely content with what seemed like the perfect deal, before he moved in.

One thing that he wasn't told, though, is that the damn place is fucking haunted.

"No, it's true!" He insists over drinks, gripping a pint of beer in his hand a bit too tightly. Most of his friends are squinting at him with disbelief - the ones that aren't openly laughing, that is. Shitheads. "Swear to god. There's a fucking ghost at my new place.”

"Just one?" Amami asks, smiling, and Momota is unsure if he's being mocked.

"Yeah, and it's creeping me out!” He says anyway. “Not that I'm scared, but."

Momota shivers. He might be overselling himself a bit, but he’s not about to let everyone know that. How he feels about ghosts is his own damn business.

"Momota-chan is _totally_ scared, haha."

"There's no reason to be, though! Ghosts don't exist, after all."

“Do they? Gonta isn’t sure…”

"Do you pinky swear on that small dick of yours that you're not makin' it up, huh, loser?"

"Shut up!" Momota barks at the lot of them, squeezing his eyes shut. "All of you shut up, I'm not lying! It shows up all the time, just… standing there in the corner of the room. Fucking. Looming, I don't even know what the hell it is they do."

"Oh, oh, is it a cute ghost?" Shirogane asks him.

"Cute," he repeats stupidly. He doesn’t get it.

She leans forward, elbows resting on the wooden surface of the pub table. "Yeah, you know! Like in all those stories where the protagonist starts sharing a space with a hottie from the past century… Oh, and they've been murdered, and won't rest until you solve the mystery of their death! Of course, if you do, it ends in tragedy, because they'll disappear just before you have your first kiss and…"

He loves them to bits, but sometimes, Momota does wonder about some of the people he's friends with. Just a bit.

"Anyway!" He tries, loudest that he can muster without actually shouting, drowning out Shirogane's frankly disturbing blabber of ideas, "I'm not scared or anything. I'm definitely not scared! But, does anyone wanna let me crash at theirs tonight?"

“What, really?”

"Poor, little, scared Momota-chan…" Ouma blows bubbles in his drink through a straw.

"You can stay at mine, if you want," Akamatsu offers. She's a good friend. Reliable. "But only for a couple of days, until you get used to your new place."

...Yeah. He sighs. "Sure. Thanks."

He's definitely handling this whole situation well - better than most people would, even. It's just, no one would wanna have to deal with something like this, on top of moving and everything, would they? It's just like buying an apartment and finding out it has. Rats.

Or something.

He frantically throws his clothes and basic necessities into a sports bag, as quick as he can manage, without even looking to check what he's packing. The damn thing just stands there and watches, eyes boring into him, barely even moving.

It's all it ever does. Stands there in the shadows, wrapped in a long coat even though it's the middle of summer, a hat covering most of its face. Blinks at him, silent, a continuous presence that’s making Momota’s spine rattle.

This is what it means, being an adult, isn't it? Doing unpleasant things because you have to get them done, even if you don't enjoy doing them at all.

He's being mature about this, Momota thinks, as he all but runs out of the apartment, the door slamming behind him before he quickly locks it twice and goes to crash at Akamatsu’s.

"Momota-kun, it's been way too long. There aren't really any ghosts anyway. You can do this, okay?"

"Come on, man, you gotta sort yourself out."

"I have to regretfully inform you that I have other arrangements planned for the next week. It would be the best if you left before Sunday."

"Alright, get the fuck out, Moronmota. It's been three slutty, slutty nights of you jerking it on my couch and I need the space for the sexytimes, ya feel me?"

"Nyeh."

"Make sure to give Ghost-chan a big ass smooch for me, mkay? Stir that ectoplasm up with some grown boy tonguing, uwu."

"You've done this for too long, Momota. Out."

He's still there.

Of course he is.

Momota suddenly realizes that, in between briefly and reluctantly returning to the apartment to grab the stuff he forgot and promptly backing off for some more couch surfing, he's started thinking of the thing as a _he_. Fucking hell.

He doesn't speak. He never does. It makes Momota wonder if he can speak at all, and if so, if he's only not doing it because he can sense Momota’s fear.

Ridiculous. That's not a person. He could - dunno, eat him - any second now. Not knowing what the creature wants or what's it capable of is the scariest part of it all, if Momota has to pick one.

He didn't, though. Eat him. He hasn’t done anything at all, besides stand there looking sad.

(Not yet.)

During the following week or so, Momota bathes in public bathrooms, shows up to work tired, dressed in wrinkled clothes, and spends his nights going on long walks around town, everything not to stay in that place for too long - or at all, if he can help it. He curses his current living situation and not being able to afford a change yet.

The thing to blame for this entire thing, Momota decides, is capitalism. And ghosts.

Momota's boss chews him out for dozing off for the fifth time that week (Sixth? Two weeks? Time hasn't been exactly linear or predictable, or numbers, not with the way his waking hours stretch out endless with dread and anxiety and the bags under his eyes are less bags and more travel suitcases at this point), and that's when he knows that things have to change.

He's going in there. He's Momota Kaito, soon to be a legend, flying through the stars, and he's not gonna let a little thing like this scare him off. He's a fighter, is what he is.

"I'm home, you fucker," he announces to the seemingly empty apartment. "And I'm gonna sleep here. In my bed. If you even try to touch the Great Luminary of the Stars, bet your ass you're gonna regret it."

There's no answer. Something on his left shifts, making him think of a person, a vague shape of a young man in last century’s clothes biting his lip before he disappears again, but maybe it's nothing more than a shadow.

Momota takes off his shirt and pants, goes around turning every single light on, and then finally lies down, hugging a baseball bat close to his chest as he attempts to sleep. He's never seen Ghostbusters, was too much of a wuss to sit through the whole movie, but he googled the hell out of their methods and he's all prepared. He'll be fine, probably.

He isn't exactly fine, but it's something. His sleep is shallow and restless and he jumps at every little noise, immediately snapping awake. The ghost doesn't show, though - or maybe he does, but Momota’s so out of it, his brain so desperately needing sleep, that he knocks right back out every time and doesn't notice.

If the ghost does show up, he makes no move to hurt him.

"So, how's the situation now?" Akamatsu asks him conversationally over coffee at his place. He wanted to go somewhere else when she asked to come over, but then decided against it: he can show her the damn thing in person. "Have you settled down yet?"

"Mostly, yeah!" Momota says. "Still unpacking and shit." He doesn't tell her anything about how he's been avoiding the darker corners of the apartment, stumbling through it one-handed, the Great Ghostbusting Bat clutched in the fist of his other hand.

"That's nice. I'm happy for you," she says, and doesn't mention the ghost. Who is still not showing up, speaking of, which is making Momota both relieved and frustrated. Way to choose a moment.

"Yeah, well, I'd be even better if _he_ wasn't around." He frowns.

Akamatsu doesn't answer that one, but she makes a face, her trademark I Am Trying To Be Polite But You're Making It Really Hard For Me face, which is pretty fucking unfair of her, Momota's gotta say.

"Hey, yeah," she suddenly cheers up again, changing the subject, "I just remembered something. You haven't hosted a housewarming party yet, have you?"

Momota groans.

Normally, he'd be ecstatic about calling everyone over to celebrate. He takes the time to curse his living situation some more. Capitalism and creepers.

"Why not do it? Might be a nice change of pace. It's been a while since we all gathered together for a- Oh my god!" She practically screams.

"What is it?"

Momota follows her gaze, fixed somewhere between the kitchen and one of his house plants, and finds that the fucker has finally appeared.

"Shit!" He screams, grabbing Akamatsu reflexively. His grip must hurt, but it's not really the time to be thinking about something like that, is it?

The ghost flinches. For a split second, his gaze darts between Akamatsu and Momota, then he takes a small step backwards. All the lights in the apartment flicker and still, and the plant shakes a little when he grazes against it, its leaves slightly moving, even after he disappears.

"Oh my god," Akamatsu repeats, slightly muffled, hands covering her mouth.

"I fucking told you so," Momota tells her, back straight again, trying hard to sound wise and patient and not like someone who very recently screamed like a bitch while clutching her shoulders.

"He's real. He's actually real." Akamatsu shakes her head. "I'm sorry for not believing you before."

"Fucking. Yeah, no worries."

There's a small pause.

"...Can I crash at yours again, then?" He asks hopefully.

"Absolutely not. Sorry."

Figures.

He watches Akamatsu raise the cup to her lips in her still a little shaky fingers, then places it neatly back down. She smiles a little, something on her mind.

"If Shirogane were here, she'd definitely call him cute."

Momota snorts. "Fuck off."

She's right, though.

Akamatsu takes another sip, thinking.

"...But, really," she says finally, "He's nothing like what I would've expected. I wouldn't have thought he'd look so… I don't know."

"Huh, what?"

"He just seems so _sad_ ," Akamatsu tells him. "Is he always like that?"

Momota takes a moment to think about the apparition's face turned downwards, skinny arms held close to his chest, and that helplessly mournful expression under the rim of a hat.

Something in him shifts. 

Thing is, Momota hates it when people around him are sad. He can't stand it, so much that it makes him do stupid shit. And, yeah, the ghost might not be a person anymore, but he looks so utterly broken that it's enough to make Momota temporarily forget his - not fear - and leave him consumed by the urge to act, to try and somehow change this.

It might add to his sentiment that the ghost doesn't really seem like some kinda evil poltergeist, however you spin it. He looks like a young man around his age, pale and scared and sorrowful, and he doesn’t rattle any bones, or break furniture, or rapidly switch the lights on and off to spook him, even though now Momota knows that he definitely can.

Perhaps it’s dumb to consider this any proof, but Momota still does. He's used to trusting his gut, and his guts might as well be twisted into a sailor's knot right now, but he's still gonna trust them.

It's worked for him so far.

"Hey, man." He says it one day out of the blue, face turned towards the general direction of the ceiling, and tries not to immediately regret it.

For a while, nothing happens. The TV drones on in the background, the ceiling fan is spinning in a semi-successful attempt to cool off the stifling summer air, the kitchen faucet is slowly dripping with an annoying persistence, and Momota can feel his stress levels exponentially rising with every passing second.

Then, the figure in a long, old-fashioned raincoat steps into existence from the shadows in the corner. He peeks at Momota from under the hat, then quickly averts his eyes, not saying a word. Momota’s pretty sure that he can speak, at this point. Call it another gut feeling.

"What's up with you, huh?" He asks, giving his all to sound casual. He's probably failing really badly, but, even if he is, dude's gonna have to cut him a little slack; these are not regular fucking circumstances.

There's another moment of wait, before the ghost opens his mouth and asks, "What do you mean?"

He has a higher voice than Momota expected, if he expected anything. Nice voice. Looks nice, too, all slender features and long eyelashes, but what does a thing like that even matter to a ghost.

"C'mon, you fucking get me. Why're you so down all the time?" Momota clarifies.

He watches as the ghost's shoulders raise a little, stiff and startled, like he didn’t expect this.

"I…"

He blinks; looks down. Through the window. Then back at Momota, carefully.

"I can't go away," he says finally. "I've tried. I seem to be bound to this apartment no matter what I do, so. I'm sorry you're losing sleep over my presence."

He sounds so damn sincere that it makes Momota’s heart do something strange. He really doesn't seem to want to hurt him.

That's not it, though.

"What the hell?" He asserts, making the guy jump a little. "That's not what I asked you at all! Come on, it's not hard."

“You want me gone, don’t you?” He asks, more straightforward than what Momota’s pegged him as. Honest. He likes that.

He doesn’t like the question, though. Does he even want him out of here, before finishing what he's just started? Now that he's convinced that the dude means no harm, Momota is kind of invested.

"Nope, listen here," he settles on, shifting to sit more comfortably, knees spreading open, "That’s not important right now. What I wanna know is why you look so damn sad. What’s wrong? You can tell me.”

The ghost opens his mouth to say something, then closes it, seeming to have changed his mind. He opens it again. "You wouldn't be?" He asks. "Sad, I mean. If you died."

This makes him think.

"...Nah," he says after a while. "Prolly angry. Disappointed, maybe. But not sad."

"You're a strong person," the ghost says. It makes Momota grin despite himself, puffing his chest up.

"Aw, it's nothing," he says too loudly. "You just gotta look at the bright side of things, you know? And, you're here now, which means you can still do shit. If you set your eyes to the goal and don't let the bad things sway you, eventually you'll accomplish great things."

It's a bunch of bullshit, admittedly, similar to the inspiring speeches he gives Harumaki when he notices she's feeling down. But, it's working to make her feel better, and that's what's important. Seems to work on this guy, too.

"Yeah…" he tells him. "You're right."

Somehow, Momota is not that petrified anymore. This is almost like talking to a friend. 

"My name is Saihara Shuichi," the ghost tells him quietly. "I was murdered in this apartment, about fifty years ago."

Momota shivers. "That sucks, man, but please don't give me any details about that. Shit's disturbing."

Saihara raises an eyebrow. "I won't."

"Great!" Momota claps, relieved; that's settled then. Then he asks, "So, fifty years, huh. Did you get to see the Moon landing?"

He thought he's older, somehow. Probably because he wears so much black.

Saihara shakes his head. "Not quite, in a sense. I was pretty young at the time, and it didn't matter to me much."

"Damn, you're weird! What kinda person doesn't get excited by that shit?" Momota can hardly believe this dude. "All kids love space, it's a universal fucking experience. And the true legends go and do something about it later in life."

"...Did you do something about it?"

"Damn right I did! I'm Momota Kaito, and I'm an astronaut!" he announces it with as much bravado as he can gather, pointing at his chest with his thumb. Saihara looks at him with awe, more than people usually do, and he's gotta say, it's really working for him. He almost forgets dude's a ghost.

Encouraged, Momota spends some more time telling him about the details of his job and how heroic he is, definitely not exaggerating, before he realizes that he hasn't asked the question back.

"Oh, right! What kinda job did you have?"

"I, ah, used to be a detective," Saihara tells him.

Momota whistles. "Nice."

"Not really." Saihara shrinks back on himself. "I was murdered while on a case. Someone else died because of me, too. I keep wondering if I could’ve saved her, if I…" The pained expression returns to his face, shadows almost swallowing the sickly complexion, his shoulders trembling slightly.

Momota looks at him and shakes his head. "Hey now! Put yourself together, or imma have to punch you in the face."

Saihara doesn't. He looks miserable.

"Cheer up! I'm serious! Think about it. You did the best you could, yeah?"

"...I did try to."

"Right! And, you even gave your life for it. So, don't you try to take all the blame like that. You're way too hard on yourself, man."

Looking up, a little calmed down but not fully convinced, Saihara nods. Momota can work with that.

"Would you even be able to punch me?" Saihara asks.

"What?"

He waves one hand, as if demonstrating something. "I might just phase through you."

Oh.

"You touched my plants, though. I mean." Something else comes to him. "You've really never tried it before?"

Saihara shakes his head. "I haven't talked with anyone before you came here, ever since I died."

Well, shit.

That _really_ won't go.

"Alright, let's try it then," he decides, promptly getting up from the sofa and pacing across the room to where Saihara is standing. Saihara blinks.

"What?"

As soon as he gets there, Momota puts out his arm with resolution, offering his hand, palm up.

"Try to take it! Come on!"

Tentatively, slowly, Saihara steps forward and takes his hand.

 _It's cold_ , comes to Momota as a first thought; the one following it being, _It worked_. He's weirdly excited about this, his heart beating loudly in his chest. Carefully, he moves his thumb in a smooth motion, stroking the unusually cool skin.

"Ah…"

As if in a daze, Saihara is fixedly staring at where their hands are connected. He makes no attempt to move away.

"Good afternoon! You're speaking to Momota Kaito, Luminary of-"

"Hey, Momotard!"

"Fucking- Iruma?"

"One and only, the sexiest!"

"Why the hell's your phone number hidden?"

"Don't worry your virgin brain about it. What I wanna know is, you're hosting an orgy at yours, right, Bed Hair?"

"What the fuck?"

"...Sluttymatsu told me about it the other day."

"Did she, really."

"I'm bringing Kiibo, too. Can't back off now, coward!"

Eh, Momota thinks. Why the fuck not? He likes parties, hasn't been to one in way too long, and besides, his ghost problem doesn't seem like that much of a problem, anymore, if he's honest.

"Who's backing off?" He grins. "I'm gonna throw the best party you've seen, just watch!"

"Momota."

"Hey, Harumaki! What's up?"

"Akamatsu and Iruma mentioned a housewarming party."

Of course. "Yeah, it's happening! You're coming, right?"

"What do you want me to get you?"

Momota shrugs. "Dunno, whatever's fine. Don't have to bring anything."

"Momota." A warning.

"Come on, loosen up, Maki Roll. Just make sure to show up, who cares about the rest."

"You're getting another plant."

Momota smiles. "Sure."

"One more thing."

"Hm?"

"Make sure you keep Ouma from doing something stupid. And that ghost."

"Hey, hey!"

"Hey there, sports champ!"

"Can't wait for the party!"

"Hell yeah! Glad to hear it."

"Can Tenko come wearing sweatpants?"

"Sure thing! You can wear whatever." Momota isn't sure he himself won't be wearing sweatpants.

"Oh, good! Tenko and her girlfriends are all so excited!" Chabashira adds. "We're going to bring you _so_ much cake. Even though you're a guy."

"Momota-chan?"

"That's me."

"Just checking! In case you've gotten spirited away since the last time we had a little talky talk. That'd be so tragic…"

"Get off my dick, it's not funny anymore."

"But, I can't- _sniff-_ help it if I'm worried! _Sniffle_ . My dear- _shlorp-_ friend, murdered by some spooky spirits… _Snorrrt-_ "

"Stop blowing your nose into the mic, fucker."

"Buuaaah, Momota-chan wants me to be all snotty! ...Is that a fetish of yours? Do hanging boogers make your Little Momota go all happy?"

"I'm gonna fucking kill you next time I see you."

Ouma giggles. "So, Saturday, then?"

Momota pauses. "...I _guess_."

"Yay! Good luck trying to kill the most evilest overlord in existence, though. There's a target on your back as we speak…"

"Yeah, yeah. You better be coming to my party, ya hear?"

"Uh-huh!"

"Hello, Momota-kun? I'm just calling to say that I never started any rumors. I only told Iruma-san that I hope that you'll change your mind about that party. The rest was all her, I swear. ...So, Saturday?"

He finds Saihara flipping through the pages of one of the books on his shelf, floating a little above the ground in a sitting position. He seems fully invested in the story.

"Hey, man."

Saihara startles. "Ah, I- Hello. I can put the book back, if you want."

"What? Nah, feel free to read my shit. Some books are in Russian, though."

Saihara nods. "I noticed. You're really amazing, Momota-kun."

With a sudden realization, Momota thanks everything under the Sun for the fact that he keeps all his porn digital.

"...Hey, so, I gotta warn you," he says, coming closer, "I'm gonna have some friends over on the weekend. New apartment and all, so we’re celebrating."

"Okay."

"Just a heads up, is all," Momota feels compelled to add. "They're loud, and some of them can be huge fuckin’ assholes, not gonna lie."

"You're loud, too, though."

"What was that?"

"Ah, I mean. I'm looking forward to meeting them." Saihara gives him a smile.

Momota tries not to be worried about this response. Saihara seems to be way more resilient than he acts; he can handle a bit of ruckus. He’s older than Momota, too, in a sense, so he guesses he can fend for himself. When has he started worrying this much?

Feels just like having a roommate, Momota thinks, walking away. Who'd've known.

"Aren't you hot like that?"

"Hm? Like what?"

Wearing dress shoes, pants, a hat, a raincoat, and what looks like a thick turtleneck underneath at least, talking to Momota who is currently standing before him in nothing but boxers and a wifebeater, Saihara somehow doesn't seem to notice the problem.

"It's summer! Don't you feel the heat anymore?"

"Not really," Saihara admits.

Momota squints. " _Can_ you even take those off?" Maybe they're just a part of him, now that he's dead. Like skin. Maybe he can feel it if his sleeves touch something. That'd be weird as hell.

With the way Saihara's looking at him, Momota can guess that he hasn't tried this, either.

After a second, Saihara shrugs the coat off. It slides off him easily, like it would if any human did it. So, that answers that. He takes off the hat too, seeming more nervous about it than the coat. He places them both neatly folded on the chair closest to them.

"Whoa.”

Still severely overdressed in comparison, Saihara remains in that black turtleneck, bare-headed, looking handsome and a little ashamed. Next to them, pieces of ghost cloth that Momota’s now trying his hardest not to think of as a discarded skin layer, lie unmoving, like any normal clothes.

“Dude.” Momota moves closer to touch the fabric of his underlayer of clothing, fascinated by the sheer mechanics of it. Without thinking, he grazes his palms over Saihara's shirt where it covers his chest and stomach. His friend stiffens.

“Just… a little space…” He manages, a hard blush on his cheeks. Momota would wonder about how the hell does that even work for him, blushing, but he's distracted by the sight of the tint of pink on the usually sickly, pale skin. It looks good.

He backs off. “My bad! I got curious.”

“It’s okay.”

This time, he’s sure that the rapid heartbeat in his chest decidedly isn’t an aftereffect of being scared. Frankly, he doesn’t even remember how the hell did he manage to be so afraid of Saihara, before.

"Hey man, you awake?"

Next to him, Saihara is blinking slowly, eyes unfocused, likely missing most of the stuff that's happening on the screen before them. His black coat discarded and once again folded over the sofa's armrest, he's sitting relaxed, leaning against Momota. He seems to be battling sleep and losing.

Do ghosts sleep? This one looks seconds away from nodding off.

Annoyed, Momota elbows him.

“Hey!”

He can't believe he's missing this masterpiece. There's so many sci-fi movies that Momota decided he has to educate his new friend about, as a fellow man. This one even came out in Saihara's time, so he really doesn't have an excuse for not having seen it in the first place.

"Come on, fucking focus."

"Ah, sorry," Saihara says.

Nudging him with his elbow again does the trick: it snaps Saihara well out of his daze.

"Keep watching, you'll miss the best part!" He says, slapping him on the knee.

"Y-yeah."

For the next few minutes, the two of them sit looking at kaleidoscope-like patterns spilling all over the screen in all sorts of colors and shapes, the protagonist experiencing something no one before him ever has, before he emerges changed and victorious. Momota doesn't speak, taking in the events and bracing himself for the impactful ending.

Suddenly, the screen clicks and turns off. The next are the lights, now turned on, blinding out of the blue. Saihara is dozed off on his shoulder; he feels him shiver and snuggle closer, which does something strange to Momota, but then, the next second, he’s gone too.

Momota looks at the now empty space next to him on the sofa. Fucking hell.

"So, he _is_ real. That's so cool, haha."

"I told you he didn't lie!"

"He's a little floaty, it's cute. Have you kissed yet?" Shirogane stares at Saihara under Momota's arm, her face a bit too close for comfort.

"Holy shit, Momota-chan," Ouma giggles, clutching his stomach. "You actually _did_ jump on that ectoplasm donger! I can't _believe_ -"

"Come on, you guys. Be decent for once. I am glad to finally meet you, Mister-"

" _This_ genius has the most important question for you, Beetlejuice, so your skinny bitch ass better answer! Can you or can you not drink alcohol?"

"Uh."

"He can't eat, right? I'm pretty sure ghosts don't eat or sleep."

"So, if you're a ghost, are you still a boy? Tenko is confused. Are you nonbinary like Kiibo?"

"Have you, perchance, met with any other apparitions during your stay in the afterlife? I am curious about this from a purely academic standpoint, of course."

"Ghosts are pretty basic-level magic. Nothing special, if you ask me."

"Hey, hey! Can Angie pinch your cheeks? Can you spit? Can you _bleed_?"

Momota can see Saihara getting overwhelmed, but he just laughs, hugging him closer to himself as his friend attempts to answer all of the questions thrown his way. This was a great idea, he thinks.

“Actually, screw alcohol, I got another one. Momota said you can fuck with the lights, so. Can you, like, change the music?”

Saihara blinks, then changes his expression to something determined, if a little unsure. “I can try.”

Before Momota gets to protest, the room gets a bit colder and Nicki Minaj’s Starships start blaring from the speakers.

“Oh, come _on_!”

Wasn’t it on his other playlist? He could swear that his guilty pleasure songs were all in the ‘Boring Documents’ folder. He’s actually positive he’ll never live this down.

“Oh my, oh my God,” Ouma laughs so hard he starts snorting. “Momota-chan listens to our queen Nicki and he never told us!”

“It’s got - astronautical value - stop fucking laughing!”

Saihara can't drink, it turns out. Momota feels like no one's more disappointed than Iruma, but then again, she's drunk herself at this point, enough to completely forget about any paranormal activity. 

Old rock is playing from the speakers, drinks and snacks are placed on every flat surface, and most of his friends are dancing or talking between themselves, their initial excitement over his supernatural roommate having worn off after a while. A few people are still sitting with them, chatting.

"Hey, can I look you up?"Amami asks, phone in hand.

"Hm?"

"See if there's any info about you on the internet, I mean."

"Ah."

Shirogane's eyes somehow light up even more than they already were. "Ooh, good idea!"

Even though he definitely doesn't know what the internet is, Saihara lists his name, occupation, birth date and time of death. Amami types away while Ouma watches over his shoulder, hanging off him like a monkey.

"Ooh, Ghost-chan is famous!" He comments before Amami gets to say anything.

"You are?"

"I'm not…" Saihara protests weakly, pulling the rim of his hat further down.

"Bull shit you're not! There's so many of these, man!" Momota leans over to check out all the articles Amami found.

"You solved quite a lot of cases, it's impressive," Amami says, eyebrows raised. "Even the one that caused your death, look. You left enough evidence behind for the culprit to be caught."

"That is _so_ cool!" Shirogane tells him excitedly. "But then, there's no mystery… You don't have any regrets, if they were caught, right?"

"Either way, of course he's awesome!" Momota says. "He's living with me, isn't he?"

Not mentioning anything about how, technically, he isn't living anywhere at all, Saihara doesn't seem to be doing that well. He seems extremely nervous, more shadowy and incorporeal with each second, not even Momota's hand on his back calming him down.

"Tell us more about the sixties!"

"What was your most dangerous case, Ghost Detective-chan?"

Saihara closes his eyes, all shadows and anxiety, silent. The next second, he's gone.

"He disappeared!"

"Aw, man! Look what you did."

Shirogane shakes her head, disappointed.

Ouma gets up. "Okies, I'm bored now! Gonna go make Gonta-chan drink something weird," he announces, heading for the kitchen.

Amami laughs. "That won't go well," he says cheerfully.

"Oh, but," Shirogane asks, "What if he disappeared forever? Maybe he just realized that he doesn't have any regrets, after all." She puts a finger to her lips, thinking.

In the background, Momota can hear Guns N' Roses singing about a heaven's door, which he would've found a little too much on the nose, all things considered, if it wasn't reduced to barely a white noise in his ears.

He’s sure that the lights turn on and off a few times, lamp in the corner here and hiccup of the speakers there, but maybe it’s just his imagination. There’s no trace of Saihara for the rest of the night. He doesn't like this at all.

"There you are."

When Saihara finally shows again, it's late, well after midnight, the party's over and all Momota's friends have gone home. He's in the darkest corner of the bedroom, and he still looks a little bit lost, staring into space.

Momota lets out a deep breath, relieved.

"Momota-kun."

Momota quickly walks up to him and grabs his shoulders. "Man, why'd you do that? Almost thought you were gone for good."

It's dark, most of the faint lighting in the apartment coming from the street lights outside the window, and there's a ghost in his house, and Momota has been worrying about something else entirely.

"Don't do that shit anymore, geez."

Saihara gives him a strange look.

"I don't... like it," he says finally, "When people talk to me like that."

"Like what? Mentioning the past?"

"Mm." He shrugs.

"We don't gotta talk about before, then," Momota decides, "It doesn't matter anyway. What matters is now, right? Don't worry about anything else. I'll take care of it."

"Thank you," Saihara tells him. "It really…" He pauses.

"Don't mention it! It's what I do."

"Do you really want me to stay?" He asks suddenly.

Momota's eyes soften. He might be bound to this place, but wanting it is a whole nother story, he guesses.

"Of course I do," he answers without needing to stop and think. "So don't go disappearing on me, alright?"

Saihara looks him in the eyes with something different, resolute, as he says, "I won't. I promise."

Good. "So, we're stuck together from now on."

His friend smiles. He looks so genuine. It's incredibly endearing, and Momota feels a happy kind of restlessness, so much that it makes him move further in.

"Hey..."

Their faces almost touching, Momota is highly aware of the moment Saihara gets even closer, moving his hands to hold onto his waist, before he closes the distance between them.

It's warm, and dark, and Momota isn't scared a single bit.

Cold hands are tracing his arms and sides and stomach muscles, the body beneath him pale under the moonlight. Twin sighs echo against the walls of the room, so similar in kind that it's near impossible to tell which of them are human and which ones are something else.

Back when he moved in, Momota was pretty damn sure that he'd be losing sleep over this whole situation.

He never imagined it would be this way, though.

**Author's Note:**

> me@me do not call this 'the poltergayst fic'  
> the title is mostly my best friends fault. she read this with commentary even though shes not into the ship, the true mvp. teodora if ur reading this ilu
> 
> coming across a sad looking ghost, momota be like There are two wolves inside me; one is deathly afraid of the supernatural, and the other has a savior complex. both wolves are gay  
> if u recognized the movie im sending u a smooch and the unfortunate confession of having fallen asleep watching it, even tho its known as a classic and masterpiece  
> my sis: the true tragedy of this fic, if u think about it, is that succi was born in a time where mcr doesnt exist
> 
> this is probably my fav saimota week entry i did ngl


End file.
